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Thursday, November 14, 2013

Holding On

[Note: This post was originally published on The Mrs on May 5th, 2012. And I'm proud to say my kids continue to grab my hand when we're in public. Uh... just not on school property—because they're already too cool for me.]

I still hold my kids’ hands.

I noticed this today, walking across the school parking lot, as students
and parents hurried toward the yard to begin the day. Adults were
hustling along their kids, some older, some younger than my own, and no
one was holding anyone’s hand.

Except me.

And it happens naturally. When they hop out of the van, I stretch my
arms out to either side of me as I start walking, and miraculously
sweaty little palms slip into mine as we trudge across the tarmac.

They expect it as much as I do.

They’re well-trained, and Mr Lannis and I — however we might look
overprotective — are avid hand-holders. In grocery stores, if the boys
aren’t in our grasp, they’re hanging on to the cart — yes, I’ve
mastered the ability to steer a shopping cart single-handed. And we’re
not those parents harping at our kids to keep up or stop touching the
shelves.

And the boys’re independent in other ways on the schoolyard. The oldest
won’t be walked all the way to the area designated for the older grades,
instead stopping in the kindergarten yard to receive a kiss on the
cheek goodbye.

And the youngest doesn’t want a kiss at all — a high five will do.

But walking across a parking lot? They stretch out their hands willingly, sometimes before I have the chance.

Because they like it as much as we do.

They’re now five and six-and-a-half, and I don’t know when it’ll stop.
All too soon they’ll be too cool for it, or be linked self-consciously
with a crush, and they won’t even need me to pick them up and drop them
off at school, let alone guide them across a parking lot...

I know there’ll come a day, but right now? Now, even as spring rain
makes me want to curl my fists into my sleeves or stuff them into my
pockets, I feel a short tug, and I know.